The Other Woman
by allthingsdecent
Summary: Post series finale, but a bit AU: Cuddy invites House to join her therapy sessions. This doesn't sit well with House's new girlfriend.
1. Chapter 1

**Here's an AU take on the series finale. Sadly, Wilson is still a goner, but House didn't do any of that faking-his-own death nonsense.**

The Other Woman

Cuddy took a deep breath, steadied her hands—which were shaking a bit—and dialed the all-too familiar number.

She tried to imagine where he would be: At the piano? On the couch drinking scotch? Or, she shuddered at this thought for a second, crouched in the bathroom with a needle in his arm?

But the voice who answered wasn't familiar at all: A woman, with the slightest trace of a Midwestern accent.

"Hello?" the woman said.

Before Cuddy could even process her shock, there was a man's voice—House's—bellowing into the room: "I got it!" followed by his typically nonchalant, "Y'allo" into the receiver.

"Hello, who's there?" the woman repeated.

Cuddy had a momentarily urge to hang up, to forget the whole thing. Instead she said: "House?"

Then, it was House's voice again—only changed this time, tense, tentative: "Ellen, hang up. It's for me."

There was a click.

"Cuddy?" House said. She could hear him limping across the room, closing the door.

"Who's that woman?" Cuddy said.

"My God. It's really you," he said, almost to himself.

"Who's that woman, House?"

"She's, um. . .she lives here now. Are you okay? Is Rachel okay?"

"We're both fine," Cuddy said.

"I'm just. . .this is so unexpected. How are you?"

"I already said, I'm fine. Look House, here's why I'm calling."

"You don't need a reason to—"

"I'm seeing a therapist."

"Okay?" he said, confused.

"And she seems to think I'm having some issues with…closure. That I still have a lot of anger, mostly aimed at you frankly, and that it might be helpful for me to express my feelings to you in a . . .safe setting."

"Safe setting?"

"Yes. Like, a therapist's office. I'm asking if you'll join me for my therapy session."

There was a momentary, stunned pause.

"You can say no if you want to," Cuddy said, somewhat tersely.

"No. I mean, yes. Of course. It's the least I can do. Just tell me where and when and I'll be there."

"Tuesday. 11 am. Dr. Anita Rosenberg's office on 191 West 71st Street."

"191 West 71st," House repeated.

"You're not going to write it down?" she said.

"No. I got it. Cuddy, I'm just so glad that you—"

"I'll see you on Tuesday then. Thanks for agreeing to this."

And she hung up.

House stared at the phone for a long time. Finally, he limped out of the bedroom, into the kitchen.

Ellen was standing there, stirring batter—she was making banana-nut muffins.

"Who was that?" she said.

"It was, um, someone I work with," House said.

"Someone you work with?" Ellen chuckled. "Could you be more vague?"

"It was Dr. Chowdery, from pediatrics. She needed a consult."

Ellen stopped stirring and squinted at him.

"Why do you look so freaked out?"

"I'm just . . . annoyed that she called instead of paging me. That's all."

"Okay," Ellen said skeptically. She had been dating House long enough not to push it. "Do me a favor and go chop the walnuts."

"Okay," he said, glad to be off the subject.

#####

Cuddy came to her therapy session a few minutes early to brace herself for his arrival.

"He'll be late, by the way," Cuddy said. "He always is."

"How are you feeling right now?" Anita said. She was early 60s, long gray hair pulled back into a loose bun. She tended to dress in flowy layers—lots of expensive looking sweaters and scarves. Her office was classic Upper West Side intellectual: Leather coaches, faded Oriental rugs, bookshelves stacked with everything from Freud to Kierkegaard to Phillip Roth.

"Weird. Anxious. Defensive. And strangely. . .annoyed that House has a girlfriend," Cuddy admitted.

"How do you know he has a girlfriend?"

"Because when I called, a woman answered the phone."

"Could've been a friend, a colleague."

"House doesn't do friends, except for the late great James Wilson, who has probably achieved sainthood by now. And colleagues don't answer your home phone at 10 at night."

"So why does her existence annoy you?" Anita said.

"Because I haven't been able to maintain a relationship of longer than 2 months since he rammed his car into my living room and he's living with someone? I'll just throw it on the ever-growing pile of Incredibly Unfair Things."

"Well, perhaps we can address it today."

"I don't want him to think I'm jealous. I'm not jealous. I'm annoyed."

"I understand," Anita said.

Cuddy fidgeted a bit on the couch. She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them. "This is weird, right? It's okay for me to feel weird about this."

"It's highly 'weird.'" Anita said with a reassuring smile. "But you'll do just fine. Be honest with him. Don't hold back. And I'm here to throw the flag if he gets out of line."

Her desk phone buzzed. She answered.

"He's here," she said to Cuddy. Then she looked at her watch. "Right on time. You ready?"

Cuddy straightened her shoulders a bit, nodded.

"Let him in," Anita said.

House emerged in the doorway looking, if anything, more nervous and fidgety than she was. He was wearing a suit and tie, the kind of unnecessarily formal gesture that she might have found touching once upon a time.

"Hi Dr. House. I'm Anita Rosenberg. Of course, you know Dr. Cuddy."

House nodded at Cuddy, then licked his lips, as though his mouth were dry.

"Have a seat," Anita said, gesturing to the far end of the couch where Cuddy was sitting.

With the exception of Nolan, who had slowly gained his trust, House had a natural disdain for psychiatrists. He considered them quacks, charlatans, one step above carnival psychics. But Cuddy could tell, just by his body language, that he was going to at least try to behave.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet us here," Anita said.

"As I said to Dr. Cuddy, it's the very definition of the least I can do," House said. He was trying to catch Cuddy's eye, but she was looking straight ahead, at Anita.

"Good," Anita said. Then she chuckled: "I hope you feel that way after the session."

"So how does this work?" House said, scratching his beard nervously.

"No rules," Anita said. "Just a clearing of the air. But before we have Dr. Cuddy unburden herself, let's catch up a little. How long as his been since you two last saw each other."

"Almost four years," Cuddy said.

"Three years, eight months, and 14 days," House said.

Anita eyed him.

"And what have you been up to in that time?"

"The usual," House said. "18 months in prison. Buried my best friend. Oh and I've been sober for 337 days."

He looked at Cuddy again, expecting some sort of sign of approval, but she remained stony faced.

"Congratulations," Anita said.

"Thank you."

"And the woman?" Anita said. "Dr. Cuddy says a woman answered your phone."

"My, uh, girlfriend, Ellen Chalmers. She owns a flower shop in Hoboken. We met at a NA meeting."

"You go to NA?" Cuddy said, incredulously. "He's an atheist," she explained to Anita ."He doesn't believe in any higher power other than himself."

"I tune most of it out," House admitted. "But I find that sobriety loves company." Then he smiled, sheepishly. "And there are donuts afterward."

"I agree, Dr. House," Anita said. "It easier to stay sober when other people are supporting you."

"Ellen was my sponsor," House said. "But once we got, um, involved . . . someone else took over."

"Definitely wise," Anita said.

Cuddy folded her arms. This whole line of conversation was irking her. House seemed so calm, so reasonable, so self-actualized. She wanted to shake Anita and say, "Don't let him fool you! He's a raging megalomaniac."

"So. . .Lisa. . .is there anything you want to say to Dr. House, before we get started?"

Cuddy looked at her hands.

"I was sorry about Wilson. I wanted to go to the funeral. I hope you understand that I . . .couldn't."

"Thanks," House said. He swallowed hard. "It was rough."

"Dr. Cuddy says he was your best friend?" Anita said.

"Yes," House said. "He died of cancer a little over a year ago."

"Is that when you decided to get sober?"

"Yeah," House said. "I was sort of in a freefall. It was basically either time to pack it all in or try to. . .regroup."

"By pack it all in. . .you mean suicide?"

House eyed Cuddy.

"Yeah. I've considered offing myself several times in the last few years."

"I'm glad you didn't," Anita said.

"Me too," House said.

"Why would you?" Cuddy said, snidely.

House turned to her.

"Excuse me?" he said.

"I mean, you have everything," Cuddy said. "Your home, your job, your standing in the community."

"We both know I've never had any standing in the community," House said.

"Go ahead, Lisa. Tell him what you're feeling."

Cuddy closed her eyes tightly, then opened them.

"I just. . .resent the hell out of the fact that my life was completely uprooted and you got to keep everything the same."

"I lost you," House protested. "Then I went to jail. Then I lost Wilson. . .My life is hardly a bowl of cherries."

"You're still at PPTH, right?"

"Yes."

"Running the diagnostics department?"

"Yes."

"And let me guess, there's at least one beautiful young woman on your team."

"Some might describe her as beautiful."

"And now you're in love again."

"I said I had a girlfriend. I never said I was in love," House muttered.

"Seems like things are going just fine for you."

"But not for you?" he asked. He sounded like he really cared, which made her feel ill.

"Well, the nightmares stopped last year, so there's that," Cuddy said.

"Cuddy, I'm sorry. . ."

"And I'm damn good at my job, even if I don't get as much personal satisfaction out of work as I used to."

"Of course you're good at your job," he said.

"And Rachel is blissfully unaware of the fact that the man she used to think of as a father figure almost killed her."

House started to protest, then thought better of it.

"I'm sorry," he said, bowing his head.

"I can't trust men anymore," she said. "I haven't had a long-term relationship since you."

"If I keep saying I'm sorry, is going to start losing meaning?" House said. "Because I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say."

She ignored him.

I'm stuck, House," she said. "And I blame you."

"Last time you were stuck," House said, ironically. "It actually worked out pretty well for me."

She shot him a look.

"Don't go there," she said.

Anita, who had been following their back and forth like a tennis match, now stopped.

"Fill me in," she said..

"The night Cuddy told me she loved me, she described herself as being stuck," House explained. "Couldn't move forward with her life unless she found out if we could work. She also said she didn't want to be in love with me, but she couldn't help it. . . ." He gave a self-effacing smile. "It was actually a lot more romantic than it sounds."

"I'm sure it was," Anita said. Then she turned back to Cuddy. "What else, Lisa? Now's your time to get it all out."

"Does Ellen know about your past? About what you did? About your criminal behavior?"

"Of course," House said. "We talk about hitting rock bottom a lot in NA. I'm the poster child for hitting rock bottom."

"And she's willing to overlook that? She must really be the forgiving type."

"We're big on forgiveness in NA. Ellen's isn't worried that I have violent tendencies. As we both know, I don't."

Cuddy snorted.

"Actually, if you must know, Ellen's bigger concern is that I still have. . .feelings for you."

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"This is what he does," she said to Anita. "He's trying to change the subject."

"I'm just telling the truth."

"Did you tell Ellen you were coming here?" Anita asked.

"It, uh, didn't seem wise," House said.

"I'm not treating you, Dr. House. But if you were my patient, I'd advise against that."

"Good thing I'm not your patient then," House cracked.

Anita shook her head. She was on Lisa's side, for many reasons (not the least of which being that Cuddy was paying her), but she liked this Dr. House. She certainly understood what Lisa had once seen in him.

"As we're nearing the end of the session," she said. "I'd like to clear the air even more. Dr. House. Is there anything you'd like to say to Dr. Cuddy?"

House looked down.

"Only a thousand things," he said. "That I'm happy to see her. That I miss her—and Rachel—more than she could possibly know. That I've discovered the single worst word in the English language, and that's 'regret.'"

He glanced, somewhat furtively at Cuddy. "I know you think I ruined your life. And. . .maybe I did. But you ruined me, too. When you get everything you ever wanted and then you screw it up, for no reason other than screwing things up is what you're good at . . .it's hard to live with. I live with that regret everyday."

"Your life doesn't seem ruined, House. Your life seems just fine."

"Then you're not looking close enough," House said.

They stared at each other for a moment.

"What about you, Lisa?" Anita said. "Anything you want to say to House?"

"Thanks for coming?" she said, with an ironic laugh.

"Any time," House said. "Literally."

"Do you feel any better about things?" Anita said.

"Not really," Cuddy said, slumping her shoulders a bit. "I just feel really sad."

House wished they were sitting closer on the couch. He might be tempted to take her hand, or at least touch her in some way.

"I wonder if we might try this again?" Anita said. "Next week? I feel like a lot was left unsaid."

House and Cuddy exchanged another look.

"I wouldn't mind that. . ." Cuddy said.

"Me neither," House said, quickly.

"Okay then," Anita said. "Same time next week. Oh, and it's for the best if you two stay out of touch until then. I think all your conversations should be restricted to a therapeutic setting."

"Of course," House and Cuddy said in unison.

They got up together and walked out. Then, of course, they ended up in the elevator together.

"Am I allowed to ask you what floor you want?" House cracked. "Or is that violating the rules of therapy?"

"Lobby," Cuddy said, laughing despite herself.

"It's great to see you laugh," House said. "You look beautiful."

"Now that definitely IS against the rules."

"Sorry," he said. "Couldn't help myself."

She shrugged.

"How's Rachel?" he asked.

"Uh uh," she said. "Definitely verboten."

"Can you at least tell her I say hi?" he said.

"No."

"Okay." He nodded sadly.

The elevator door opened and they both stepped out, into the lobby.

"It's past noon," House said, looking at his watch. "Can I buy you lunch?"

"What part of 'conversations should be restricted to a therapeutic setting' don't you understand?" Cuddy said.

"She's not a judge," House said, with a charming smile. "She's a psychiatrist. What she says are more along the lines of . . .helpful suggestions."

"I don't want to have lunch with you House," she said.

"Oh well," he said. "Same time next week then?"

"That's the plan."

######

"Where were you this afternoon?" Ellen said that night. They were lying in bed. She was reading a romance novel; he was reading a medical journal. "I called you at work and they said you weren't there."

"Why didn't you try my cell?" House said.

"I did. It went straight to voicemail."

"It's customary to leave a voicemail when trying to contact someone."

"Greg, you're doing that thing we talked about."

House scratched his beard.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I was meeting my accountant. In Manhattan."

"Your accountant?"

"Yeah. Tax stuff. Investment stuff. Estate stuff. Real thrilling."

"And it had nothing to do with that woman who was on the phone the other night?" Ellen said, putting down her book and looking at him.

"Why . . .why would you even ask that?" House stammered..

"Because you were completely freaked out by that phone call. You looked like you had just seen a ghost. And you've been totally distracted ever since."

"Just an annoying coworker, not a ghost," House said. "As for me being distracted, just thinking about a patient. Nothing more."

Ellen sighed skeptically.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay," he said back, teasingly.

Then she turned off the light on her side of the bed.

"My manager called in sick so I have to be at the shop early tomorrow," she said, leaning over and giving him a kiss. "I'm turning in."

"Goodnight," he said, kissing her back.

Ellen and House didn't exactly have what you might call a wild sex life. Their romance hadn't blossomed out of any great passion, at least not on his part: Ellen was a friendly and supportive face at the NA meetings. When other people called House rude or arrogant, she always took his side. As his sponsor, she was a calm and comforting voice on the phone those restless nights when he was on the verge of a relapse. On a few occasions, he was so high risk, she felt compelled to come over—she would make him tea and play cards with him, ask about his record collection, anything to distract him from his pain. Then, one night, House gazed at her and said, "I don't know what I would've done without you these last few months"—and cautiously kissed her on the mouth. She kissed back, gratefully—she'd had a crush on him since the moment he'd limped into NA, so brilliant and handsome and snarly, so full of blustery, wounded anger. She slept over that night and basically never left.

But at this point, eight months into their relationship, they had the sex life of an old married couple: They had special occasion sex, or if either or them was particularly horny. Mostly, though, they gave each other a chaste kiss on the lips and fell asleep.

Ellen knew about Cuddy. Knew she was the love of his life, that no other woman would ever measure up, and she tried to convince herself that she was okay with that. She was thirty-seven, after all, divorced, a former addict (Oxycontin). She loved him more than he loved her, but so what? Life was about compromise, right?

"Tell me about more Cuddy," she had asked him one him night, innocently.

"We don't talk about her," he had snapped back, turning away.

So that was that.

Still, this night, as she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep, she couldn't help but to wonder if the mysterious woman on the phone was Lisa Cuddy. It would explain everything: His caginess, his unexplained absence, the haunted look that still lingered on his face. She needed to find out.

#####

He wasn't wearing a tie this time—just his grey jacket over his pink shirt, plus jeans, Nikes.

He sat down, rubbing his right leg nervously. (Pain? Or just force of habit?)

"I am quite possibly the first man to have ever voluntarily gone in front of a firing squad twice," he said.

"We appreciate your being here, Dr. House," Anita said, mirthfully.

"Hi Cuddy," House said, giving her a cute little wave.

"Hi House," she replied, wearily.

"I want to pick up on something we were talking about last session, if that's alright?" Anita said.

"Shoot," he said. "But not literally."

"Lisa, you said that you couldn't trust men anymore and that House was partly to blame. Can you elaborate?"

Cuddy cleared her throat a bit.

"Seems self-explanatory, right? The man I let into my house, my heart, my bed tried to kill me. Something of a trust breaker."

"Can I object here?" House said. He turned to Anita: "Am I allowed to object?"

"This isn't a court of law, Dr. House. It's a therapy session. Speak your mind."

"I let you get away with this characterization last time, because, well, frankly, I would've let you accuse me of war crimes just to spend an hour in your presence, but I can't any take it any longer: I DID NOT TRY TO KILL YOU!"

"The New Jersey criminal courts said otherwise."

"Reckless endangerment, not attempted vehicular manslaughter! I was stoned out of my gourd. You know that."

"You were lucid enough to get all worked up with your ridiculous unfounded jealousy."

"That's how addiction works," House said, eyeing Dr. Rosenberg, hoping for some backup. "You distort things. You inflate them. You overreact. In my drug-addled mind, I was making a point. It wasn't an attempted murder. It was a 'fuck you' with gusto."

"Empirical fact: You could have killed people. You could've killed my child."

House, who had built up a little head of steam, now looked down contritely: "I would never hurt either of you intentionally. You have to know that."

"It was hard to make the distinction between a symbolic gesture and a homicidal one when a car is barreling toward you at 45 mph," Cuddy said.

"Cuddy, I'd die before I hurt you," House said, pleadingly. "Or Rachel. You have to know that."

"Too late," Cuddy said.

House put his head in his hands.

"Tell me how to fix this," he said. "Tell me how to make this better for you. I can't undo what I did. So. . .what? You want me to quit my job? Break up with Ellen? Join a monastery?"

"Yes," Cuddy sniffed. She was crying, but his suggestion of joining a monastery had at least amused her.

"Okay," House said. "I'll do it. I'm going to look awful with that Friar Tuck haircut. But I'll do it. I need to start practicing my chanting. Do monks chant? Will I have to wear that horrible brown robe?"

For a second, they smiled at each other and it was like old times. House being impossible. Cuddy laughing despite herself.

"Dr. House does ask a good question," Anita said, trying to regain their focus. "What concrete thing can he do to make reparations? Do you really want him to quit his job?"

"No," Cuddy said. "He's a great doctor. He needs to stay where he'll do the most good."

"Would you be happier if he broke up with Ellen?"

Cuddy gave another snort.

"Of course not."

"I'll do it," House said, looking at her unblinkingly. "I'll break up with her. I'll do it tonight."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I don't love her. You know that, right? She keeps me company. I'm alone in this miserable world and she keeps me company. That's it. You're the one I love. You're the one I'll _always_ love."

"I know," Cuddy said softly.

"Good," House said, momentarily appeased.

"So where do we go from here?" Anita said, addressing them both.

Cuddy shrugged.

"I feel better I guess. I thought I wanted House to be unhappy, but that's not really what I want."

"I _am_ unhappy!" he said. And for some reason, that made them both laugh.

"I guess what happened between me and House was a tragedy in its own way," Cuddy said, thoughtfully. "We were in love. I got sick—or at least we thought I was sick. He took drugs to cope. I broke up with him. It all spiraled out of control from there. It ended up with House in jail and me leaving my whole life behind. I guess no one was the winner in this scenario."

"You were the victim," House said. "I'm perfectly clear on that fact. I may not have been trying to kill you, but I'm the bad guy here."

"Yes," Cuddy nodded. "You did a horrible thing and we're both still paying for it, I guess. But you've done a better job at moving on."

"I'm surviving, Cuddy, that's it."

She nodded. "You've always been good at that."

House looked down, kicked at the tassled edge of the Oriental rug.

"Yeah," he said.

"And I'm glad your sober," she said. "I really am. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you," he said, swallowing hard.

"Good," Anita said. "Very good. I think we're done here for today. Lisa, same time next week? We can debrief on these last two sessions. And Dr. House, it was very nice getting to know you. I have a colleague I can recommend you talk to if you ever want to move beyond 'survival' mode."

"Thanks," House said.

Once again, they ambled out, rode the elevator down together.

"Can I buy you lunch?" House asked again.

"Actually, I would like that," Cuddy said.

House's face lit up.

"But I can't. I have a yoga class in an hour."

His face fell.

"Can't you blow it off?"

"No," she said. "I need it. Today was good though. Helpful. Cleansing."

"Can I call you?" he said.

Cuddy closed her eyes for a second. "Let me think about that. I have your number. I'll call you if I want to see you again."

"Please_, please_ do."

"Alright House," she said. "Be good."

And she reached up and gave him a hug. They held on for a long time—too long—and he took in her scent, the feel of her body against his for what he hoped wouldn't be the last time.

"Okay," he said when they parted. "Go get your Zen on."

They smiled at each other and she walked away. House watched her, longingly, til she turned the corner and disappeared.

######

From across the street, Ellen Chalmers watched the scene from a park bench, her face obscured by a newspaper.

She was struck by several things: That Lisa Cuddy was impossibly beautiful, more so than she'd even feared (pictures on the Internet just didn't do her justice.) That she'd never seen Greg look so powerless in someone's presence, so eager for approval, so totally vulnerable. _So this_, she thought grimly, _is what Gregory House looks like when he's love_. And that it was clear—from the way she held onto him when they embraced, the way she smiled at him, the meaningful way she looked at him before parting— that Lisa Cuddy was in love with him, too.

Ellen got up and began to walk briskly. She turned the corner exactly where Cuddy had turned and she spotted her, several yards down the street turning into a building. She followed her inside.


	2. Chapter 2

**You're about to feel hella sorry for Ellen. Sorry. It couldn't be helped. - atd**

Ellen found herself in the lobby of the Urban Oasis Yoga Centre. It was exactly what you would expect: Muted colors, a soothing fountain, pan flute music piped in over the intercom. Lisa Cuddy was nowhere in sight—she must've already disappeared into the locker room.

"I want to, um, take a class?" Ellen said to the receptionist, who was blonde and young and impossibly fit in her skin tight yoga clothing.

"We have two classes starting at noon," the girl said, with a yawn. "Intermediate or advanced?"

Ellen considered Cuddy's perfectly toned figure, the way her stature projected length, even though she was actually rather petite.

"Um, advanced?" Ellen said.

"You can get changed in there," the girl said, jerking her thumb toward the locker room. Then she frowned at Ellen. "Are you going to take a class in that?"

Ellen was wearing her typical flower shop gear: Overalls, clogs, and a peasant shirt.

"This was something of a spur-of-the-moment decision," Ellen admitted. "Do you have any sort of shop?"

"We sell yoga pants and mats and tank tops. What size?"

One hundred and forty dollars later, Ellen was decked out in a pair of slightly too long yoga pants and a purple tank top with a picture of a supplicating woman that read "Namaste" on the front and "Urban Oasis Yoga Centre" on the back.

She scanned the women unraveling their yoga mats. She had guessed right! There was Lisa Cuddy, up front, already sitting in the meditation pose on her mat.

Ellen situated herself in the back, as far away from the teacher as possible. She had taken a few Yoga For Beginners classes at the Y a few years back. She remembered there was lots of breathing and some simple stretching poses. How hard could it be?

An hour later, exhausted, in pain—and having watched the other women expertly twist their bodies like pretzels, seemingly defying all laws of physics—she had to laugh at her naiveté. Advanced yoga was, well, _advanced_. Of course, Lisa Cuddy nailed all the poses. The teacher even used her a couple of times as an example of proper form.

After the class, drenched in sweat, and slightly embarrassed by her obvious inadequacy, Ellen skulked into the locker room.  
The problem: Her own locker, chosen at random, was nowhere near Cuddy's. How could she possibly strike up a "casual" conversation with her from across the room? She grabbed her overalls, shirt, and shoes out of her locker and surreptitiously stuffed them in a towel. Then, looking around to make sure no one was watching, she placed them in the locker next to Cuddy's. (She was sure someone was going to stop her: "What the hell are you doing?" or "The clothing goes _out_ of the locker, not in it" but no one seemed to notice or care.)

She took a quick shower and came out. Cuddy was already beginning to get dressed. Ellen looked at her lean and strong body for a moment and was suddenly self conscious about her own flat chest, her nonexistent ass, her complete lack of muscle tone

"That was a lot harder than I thought it would be," she said to Cuddy, with a sheepish smile.

"I thought you were new," Cuddy said, smiling back at her in a friendly way. "You have bad timing. Donna"—the teacher—"is a beast."

"But you did all the poses perfectly!"

"Hardly," Cuddy said. "You must've missed the part where I almost toppled over twice."

"I guess so. . ." Ellen said. "The advanced classes where I used to live weren't quite this hard."

"Are you new to the city?" Cuddy said.

"Yeah, I'm from Minnesota," she said. "I just moved here last month. Still trying to get the lay of the land." (She had once heard that the best way to lie was to minimize the amount of fake details you told. It was true. She was from Minnesota. However, she had moved to New Jersey, not New York. And it was six years ago.)

"I'm Lisa Cuddy."

"I'm . . .Ella."

They shook hands. Ellen was struck by Lisa's eyes—a greyish version of Greg's mesmerizing blues—and her megawatt smile, the kind of smile that people tended to describe as "lighting up a room."

"How do you like New York so far?" Cuddy said.

"I like it. I'm a little overwhelmed I guess."

"It can be a little intimidating," Cuddy said.

Ellen couldn't imagine anything intimidating this woman.

"I still haven't found my places yet, ya know?" Ellen said. "My bar. My gym. My coffee house."

Cuddy had zipped up her pencil skirt and was about to put on her Louboutins.

She eyed her. "There's actually a really great coffee shop right around the corner from here" she said.

"Oh yeah?" Ellen said hopefully.

"I haven't had lunch yet," Cuddy said, wrinkling her nose skeptically. "You wanna join me?"

Were beautiful, confident people like her actually modest, Ellen wondered? Or was adopting false modesty just another one of their many people-pleasing qualities?

"I would love to!" she said.

#####

The coffee house was perfect. Exposed brick. Large, butcher block tables, heavy coffee mugs and kitschy mismatched cloth napkins.

Cuddy ordered a bowl of tomato soup and an herbal tea.  
Ellen got a powerhouse sandwich and a latte.

They did the small talk thing, until Ellen felt comfortable enough to dig a little deeper.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" she said.

Cuddy laughed a bit.

"That would be a no," she said.

"I'm surprised. I mean, you're so. . .beautiful."

"You're sweet," Cuddy said. "I'm extremely busy. And I have a six year old. And I have notoriously bad luck with men."

"So you've never been married?"

"No. . .I was engaged once. For about 24 hours."

"What happened?"

"I broke up with the man I was engaged to so that I could be with the man I loved," Cuddy said, ironically.

"Wait. What?" Ellen laughed.

"I know. It's crazy. It's a long story. You probably don't want to hear it."

"Actually, I'd love to."

Cuddy stared into her mug of tea.

"I don't usually talk about this, but I think I'm in a particularly reflective mood because I recently saw him for the first time in four years."

Bingo.

"The ex fiancée. Or the guy you loved?"

"The guy I loved. We were together for a year. Well, together-together. We'd actually been each other's significant other for a lot longer than that, if I'm going to be perfectly honest. Anyway, it ended badly. Very badly."

"How badly?"

"'Reckless endangerment with a vehicle' badly," Cuddy said.

"Wow. So how did you come to see him again?"

"I invited him to my therapy session. Today was actually our second session together."

"Like, couples therapy?" Ellen said, with dread.

"No, nothing like that. I'm having a hard time moving on. His behavior disrupted my life. I've had a lot of issues with resentment."

"I can imagine," Ellen said.

"He went to jail for what he did. But he's been out for two years and he seems to be doing better than me. At least that's what I thought."

"He's not?"

Cuddy looked up, almost surprised that she was revealing so much to a complete stranger.

"Are you sure you want to hear all of this?"

"Are you kidding? This is the most interesting story I've heard in months!"

"I'm not usually so . . . chatty," Cuddy said, almost embarrassed. "Do people always spill their guts to you?"

"Actually, they do," Ellen chuckled. "I must have a trustworthy face."

Cuddy smiled. "I guess that's it. . .Anyway, no, he's as miserable as I am."

Ellen felt her face grow red.

"Miserable?"

"Well, he's sober. Which is very good. And he has a girlfriend. He's fond of her, I guess, but not in love with her."

"He said that?"

"Yeah."

"And you believe him"

"Yes. The truth his, he never fell out of love with me. His problem was loving me too much. His was a crime of passion."

"So this new woman? You think she means . . .nothing to him?"

"I think he's grateful to have her in his life. She's good to him. She helps keep him sober. She's a companion."

"A companion. . ." Ellen said.

"House—that's his name—is a misanthrope. If he can find anyone that he even tolerates that's a pretty rare thing. She's kind of a godsend, I guess."

"You sound like you want him to be happy."

Cuddy nodded pensively.

"I thought I didn't. But I was wrong." The she gave a small laugh. "I'm actually beginning to wonder if, on some subconscious level, the whole reason I set up the therapy session was to see him again."

Ellen's eyes widened.

"So you still have feelings for him?"

"Feelings. Yes. Excellent word. Every feeling in the book. Love. Hate. Lust. Empathy. Anger. Protectiveness."

Lust.

"But he tried to hurt you!" she protested.

"Deep down, I know he didn't. He was reckless and stupid—and high as a kite, mind you. But not violent. He would never hurt me. Not intentionally."

"So you . . .think you might see him again?"

Cuddy smiled.

"I honestly don't know," she said. "When I broke up with him, I thought I was just closing one chapter in our story. Never in a million years did I think I was shutting the whole book."

"Maybe some books are meant to stay shut," Ellen said.

"Or maybe they were slightly cracked open the whole time."

########

When House got home that night, Ellen was sitting on the couch, in footie pajamas, watching TV.

"Whatchya watching?" he said, kissing the top of her head. He was in a good mood. She had heard him whistling as he made his way down the hallway.

"Shhh," she said. "I'm trying to listen."

He was too cheerful—or perhaps indifferent?—to notice her coldness.

He limped over to the fridge.

"Any leftovers?" he said, swinging the door open. "Yikes. Unless I want a mustard and pickle sandwich, the prospects are grim."

He walked back over to her.

"Did you eat yet?" he said.

"I had a pizza," she said.

"You ate the whole pizza?" he said.

"I threw the rest out."

"It didn't occur to you that I might want some?"

"I assumed you'd eat at the hospital. I never have any idea where you are anymore. Your entire schedule is a complete mystery to me."

"Oh, that's not melodramatic at all." Then he grinned. "Why not get out of your footie pajamas—sexy as they are—and come with me to Clyde's for a burger."

"I just told you. I already ate."

"So watch me eat. Have a drink."

"Great advice, Greg. Recommend that a former addict join you for a drink!"

"Christ, bite my head off much? I meant a soft drink." He frowned. "What's up with you?"

Ellen sighed. Normally, she would happily go to Clyde's just to sit and watch him eat. Not tonight. _I'm not going to be your fucking companion tonight,_ she thought.

"Sorry," she said. "I'm just tired."

"Okay," he said with a shrug. "Enjoy _How I Met Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman_, or whatever the hell you're watching. Don't wait up."

#####

The following Tuesday, Ellen asked her manager to mind the flower shop—again—and took the train to the city. She hoped (and suspected, actually) that Lisa Cuddy was a creature of habit and that the noon advanced class at the Urban Oasis Yoga Studio was her regular thing.

Indeed, when Ellen walked into the sunny studio, Cuddy was already there, rolling out her mat. She waved at Ellen when she saw her. Then gestured for her to join her.

"Hey girl!" she said. "I'm proud of you, you came back!"

"I guess I'm a glutton for public humiliation," Ellen said.

Cuddy laughed.

"You'll do great," she said. "And if you can't hold a pose, just pretend to sneeze. It's a very good excuse for losing your balance."

Ellen smiled. Despite everything, she couldn't help but to feel a little giddy in Cuddy's presence. It was like being befriended by the popular girl in high school.

After class—Ellen sneezed twice, resulting in two minor giggle fits between them—Cuddy asked Ellen if she wanted to have lunch.

"I have _news_," she said, dramatically.

"Lead the way," Ellen said.

They went back to "their" coffee shop.

"You're not going to believe what I did," Cuddy said, after they'd ordered. "I can hardly believe it myself."

"What?" Ellen said.

"I slept with him."

"Who?" More creeping dread.

"House! Who else?"

Ellen had a sudden urge to flee the coffee shop. She wanted to get up from the table and run as far away as possible, to hide from the world. Instead, she said: "I don't understand. How?"

"Oh God, I can tell you're scandalized. I know! I know! In my defense, he has a girlfriend. He's not married."

Ellen's mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. She took a big gulp of her water.

"I'm . . . I'm speechless."

"You think I'm a horrible person. I don't blame you. _I _think I'm a horrible person."

"No, I just. . .how did it even happen?"

"I don't know, Ella. It's what House and I do. We fall into bed together."

Ellen felt her heart beating in her chest, too loudly, too quickly. She wondered if Cuddy could hear it. _Just breathe_, she reminded herself.

"Tell me everything," she said.

"Well, I called him, asked if he wanted to have lunch."

"When was this?"

"Friday."

("I'll be assisting on a surgery all afternoon," Greg had told her. "Don't try to call.")

"So of course he said yes," Cuddy continued. "Anyway, we were just talking, catching up. And he kept asking about Rachel—my daughter. It was like he couldn't hear enough about her. Who her friends were. Her favorite toys. What books she was reading. He was insatiable."

"You think he was. . .just trying to score brownie points with you?" Ellen offered.

"Maybe," Cuddy shrugged. "But House isn't really good at sugarcoating things. I've never known him to pretend to be interested in things that he's not."

Ellen had a flash to the time she gave Greg a tour of her flower shop. "It smells good," he had said.

"That's _all _you can say about my life's work?" she replied, archly, trying to hide her disappointment.

"I dunno," he had shrugged. "I guess I'm just not that into flowers."

"So what happened next?" she said to Cuddy now.

"At some point during our conversation, I became fixated on his hands."

"His hands?"

"Yes. . .his hands. He has the most beautiful hands. With these long tapered fingers—a piano player's hands."

"Gosh. . ."

"So I started thinking about what he used to do to me with those hands. The way he touched me. . .all over."

Cuddy looked up, trying to gauge Ellen's reaction.

"I can stop if you want. I mean, I know it's all incredibly inappropriate." She laughed, guiltily. "I think the fact that I don't know you that well is uninhibiting, somehow."

"No," Ellen said. "I'm interested. Go on."

"So…there I am, staring at his fingers and I'm thinking, 'Oh shit. I want to have sex with him.' So I asked if he wanted to get a hotel room. Shockingly, he did."

"No hesitation?"

"Are you kidding? I've never seen House move so fast. He has a cane. Did I mention that he uses a cane?"

"No."

"Anyway, we got a room at the Ritz and had mind blowing sex for two hours. We've always been great at sex. That's never been our issue—the opposite in fact. It's too good. It distorts things. Endorphins are a powerful thing." She gave a tiny, self-effacing grin. "Of course, he didn't want me to leave," she continued. "He kept begging me to stay. I told him it was never going to happen again. Just an isolated thing we both needed to get out of our systems."

"That makes sense," Ellen said, encouragingly.

"I don't know," Cuddy said. "I'm already starting to fantasize about being with him again. We'll see how long I hold out."

"But …shouldn't I be discouraging this?" Ellen said. "I mean, as your friend?"

"You mean, because he's, like, my abusive ex boyfriend or something?"

"Exactly Lisa. I don't want you to get hurt. If you were in my shoes, you'd say the same thing."

Cuddy nodded.

"You're right. I would. Because it's impossible to understand my relationship with House unless you've lived it. People talk about soulmates. It sounds like romance novel bullshit, I know that. But House _is_ my soulmate. I've never doubted that. Even at the height of my anger."

"Then why did you go four years without seeing him?"

Cuddy looked at her like she had just sprouted two heads.

"Because he drove his car into my house!"

"But what does your therapist say about all of this?"

Cuddy shrugged.

"She doesn't judge. That's not her way. She just wants me to _explore my feelings_. It's really annoying." She gave a self deprecating laugh and shook her wonderful mane of hair. "Anyway, I've corrupted you and obviously upset you a lot."

Ellen blushed.

"No, you didn't."

"You're a nice Midwestern girl and I'm talking about illicit afternoon sex in hotels in room."

"I'm tougher than I look."

"I believe you. Anyway. . . I've babbled enough. Tell me more about you. I never even asked. Do you have a boyfriend?"

_Maybe,_ she thought.

"Yes," she said. "His name's George. He's a doctor."

"I'm a doctor! Did I tell you that?"

"No, you didn't."

"Well, I'm not practicing medicine anymore. I'm actually an administrator. Boring I know. What field is he in?"

"General practitioner," Ellen lied.

"Very handy to have around the house," Cuddy cracked. "Can set a broken ankle and prescribe antibiotics—or birth control, if you prefer. So tell me about him."

"He's. . .a great guy. Super smart. Uh, tall."

"How long have you been together?"

"Almost a year. We live together."

"Any talk of marriage?"

"Not on his part," Ellen said.

"Men," Cuddy commiserated.

"Yeah, he doesn't believe in marriage."

"And you?"

"Yeah, I do. And I'm divorced. You'd think I'd be the jaded one."

"You never know. House didn't believe in marriage either…until he got married."

Ellen blanched.

"_What_?"

"Yeah, a marriage of convenience thing. Just to get a rise out of me, actually. He told me that he never intended to go through with it. Right until the 'I do's' he kept expecting me to object—I attended the blessed event, you see. He was playing an elaborate game of Russian roulette—or Ukrainian roulette, in this case. And I called his bluff."

Cuddy shook her head.

"The point is, if Gregory House can get married, maybe your guy will come around, too," she said.

"I don't know," Ellen said. She wanted to add, "You see, he's cheating on me with you." But she kept her mouth shut.  
#####

A part of Ellen wanted to confront him right away. But to confront him would be to admit her own wrongdoing—that she had followed him, befriended Cuddy under false pretenses. Besides, she wasn't the confrontational type. It wasn't in her nature.

And she was weak. You don't confront your cheating boyfriend unless you're prepared to make ultimatums. Unless you were prepared to walk. She wasn't. She didn't want to break up with Greg. She'd always known that he loved Cuddy more, wanted her more. Maybe he just needed to get this out of his system, as Cuddy had said.

Still, she'd been stewing all day and, by the time Greg got home, she had worked herself into something of a lather.

"You're late!" she said.

"I know…I got hung up at work. Complicated case."

"Did you at least remember the sparkling cider?" she said to him, noting his empty hands.

"Oh shit, I forgot."

"Of course you forgot!" she barked. "I asked you to do one tiny thing and you can't even do that!"

He looked shocked, and genuinely chastened.

"I'm sorry. I can run to the store and buy some now."

"Forget it," Ellen muttered. "I was going to make us a nice dinner but it's ruined now."

"Because I forgot to buy sparkling cider?"

"Just. . .forget it. There's chicken in the fridge. I'm going to bed."

She moped into the bedroom, slammed the door.

_If he follows me, he loves me—at least a little bit._

Much to her relief, a knock at the door.

"Hey," he said, standing in the doorway, his hands shoved in his pockets. "You okay? Did I do something wrong?"

_Other than fucking your ex girlfriend?_ she thought.

"No," she said. "I've just had a lot of stress at work."

"You can have stress at a flower shop?" he cracked.

"My job is hard! I may not be a fancy doctor but I work hard! I have orders to fill, employees to manage."

She had no idea why she was getting so worked up. This obviously wasn't what she was really mad about.

"I know. You're right. I'm sorry. . .I was just kidding. The annoying thing about having a girlfriend who works in a flower shop: I can't buy you flowers to apologize."

She laughed, despite herself.

"Come have chicken with me," he said, cocking his head toward the kitchen.

"Naaa. I'm tired. I'm going to turn in."

He walked over and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek.

_He's fond of her_, Cuddy had said.

"Sweet dreams," he said, closing the door.

She slept briefly, fitfully. When she woke up, she heard Greg's voice in the other room. He was whispering.

She got out of bed, put her ear to the door.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he was saying.

Ellen sighed. _You shouldn't be listening to this_, she chided herself. But of course, she couldn't stop.

"I just want to hold you again," he was saying. "I want to taste you, touch you, breathe you in. I want to breathe in your pussy again. I want to be inside you. I _need_ you."

Ellen felt vaguely ill. In their year together he had never talked to her like that. She had never once heard such lust and longing in his voice.

"Then let's uncomplicated it," Greg was saying, in response to something Cuddy said. "We're meant to be together. Being apart from you feels like death."

A silence on his end, as Cuddy presumably spoke.

"Okay," he said finally, sadly. "I understand. But please think about it. Please. I'm begging you."

And he hung up.

Ellen went back to bed—she didn't scramble. She knew that Greg was going to open a window, smoke a cigarette—a newly acquired vice, the only one he had left. Or maybe, worse still, he was going to go the bathroom and masturbate to the thought of Lisa Cuddy. She closed her eyes tightly and tried not to cry.

_To be continued. . ._


	3. Chapter 3

"Oh God, I did it again," Cuddy said to Ellen a few weeks later, putting her head in her hands.

"What?" Ellen replied, although of course she already knew.

"I slept with House." She looked up, guiltily. "It's like I have no self control. None whatsoever. I told myself we were just going to have lunch. I told myself we were just going to talk. But if that was true, why was I wearing his favorite teddy under my suit?"

"His favorite teddy?"

"Oh yeah," Cuddy said, provocatively. "House is a real lingerie guy. Drives him wild."

Ellen's mind flashed to her footie pajamas, the ones with the pictures of ducks on them.

"So what's next?" she said.

"I don't know. House says he wants to break up with Ellen, be my boyfriend again."

Ellen gulped.

"Those were his exact words?" she said, trying to remain objective, like a reporter getting the facts. "That he wanted to break up with her?"

"He was going to do it on the spot. I literally had to wrestle the phone out of his hands," Cuddy chuckled. "But the thing is, I'm not sure I'm ready to let House back in my life again. He was talking about applying for a fellowship at Scarsdale General, moving in with me. That's a little . . . intense. And until I decide what to do, he needs to stay with Ellen. She's his rock. She's the one who has kept him sober, kept him sane. This is going to sound crazy, but if Ellen were here right now, I'd thank her."

"_Thank her_?"

"Yeah. For . . .being there for him."

"But isn't that a little unfair—to Ellen? I mean, put yourself in her shoes for a minute!" Ellen protested.

"It is unfair," Cuddy agreed. "All of this is terribly unfair. But if I do decide to break things off with House and if he stays with Ellen and she's none the wiser—well, suffice it to say, she wouldn't be the first woman who got cheated on and didn't know about it."

Cuddy sighed, reflecting on the sorry state of affairs. Then she shook off her gloom, and smiled at Ellen gratefully.

"You've been such a good friend, Ella. You just let me blather on and on like this. Not judging me. I honestly don't know what I would've done without you these last few weeks."

The irony wasn't lost on Ellen: Greg had used those exact same words once to express his gratitude.

_That's me_, she thought. _Everyone's rock_.

######

"What's the sexiest garment you have in this store?" Ellen said to the clerk at the lingerie shop. "The one men buy for their girlfriends."

"Someone is planning a special night, huh?" the salesgirl said, smirking knowingly.

"That's the idea."

"Well, you can't go wrong with a red teddy," she said, holding up a fiery red teddy that was trimmed with black lace. "And guys like garters, too. They like taking them off. Makes them think of fancy Victorian brothels, or somethin'."

"Garters, huh?" Ellen had said skeptically.

"And if you have a pair of what we call 'do-me pumps' wear those, too. That'll make him pant."

Ellen nodded. She didn't own any do-me pumps. She'd have to buy a pair.

That night, she changed into her costume, slinked into the living room.

House was sitting in a chair, reading a spy novel. When he saw her, his mouth dropped open.

"What the. . .?" he said, under his breath.

"Hi," she purred, strutting up to him—she was slightly wobbly in the pumps, but the weeks of yoga had at least helped with her balance. She sat on his lap, straddling him.

"What are you playing at?" he said, squinting at her.

"Nothing," she said, unbuttoning his shirt and kissing his neck.

"Do you like my outfit?" she whispered in his ear.

"Is it. . .Halloween and I just forgot?" he said.

_Damn him_.

"No, I just thought we'd try something different tonight," she whispered, trying to stay in character, trying not to get thrown off by his ambivalence.

"This is different all right," he said, chuckling anxiously.

She continued to unbutton his shirt, kissing his pecs, then planting kisses down his torso to his stomach to the waistband of his boxers. She began to unsnap his jeans.

"Whoa there!" he said, literally picking her up and placing her onto the couch next to him. "What the hell are you doing?"

She felt like she was going to cry.

"What the hell does it look like I'm doing, Greg?"

"Acting like a complete stranger, to be honest."

Now she _was_ crying, despite herself.

"We never have sex anymore!" she wailed. "You never touch me! I was just trying to…I was just. . .forget it!"

The whole seduction had backfired horribly. She had never felt less sexy in her life. She felt humiliated.

He sat beside her on the couch, took her hand.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I never realized that sex was such a priority for you. You never seemed that into it."

"A woman needs to feel like she's wanted, Greg," she sniffed.

"You're right. I do want you. Just not …like this. This isn't you."

"We haven't slept together in over a month!"

"Has it been that long?" he said, surprised. "I've just been . . .distracted lately. Busy at work. The estate planning thing. I've had a lot on my mind."

"And that's all?" she said. "Because if there's anything else going on, we can talk about it. We can get through anything, but you have to let me in. We can do it, together."

For a second, he hesitated, looked like he was about to say something. Then he seemed to change his mind.

"There's nothing to discuss, silly girl," he said finally, kissing the palm of her hand. "I'm just busy and tired."

He put his arm around her and pulled her toward him. As usual, it wasn't sexual, but at least it was affectionate.

"I like your footie pajamas better," he whispered.

########

A week later, Cuddy was awakened to the sound of loud banging on her door.

As she wrapped herself in a robe, turned the dimmer on the hallway light up halfway so as not to awaken Rachel, and shuffled to the door, she had a vague sense of déjà vu. When she looked through the peephole, she wasn't at all surprised to see House.

"It's past midnight! What are you doing here?" she said, opening the door.

"You haven't called me in over a week!" he blurted out. There was a slight edge of desperation in his voice. He looked frazzled: Wrinkled pink shirt, disheveled hair, his body swallowed by a too-large charcoal grey overcoat.

"Are you _drunk_?" she asked.

"No. Of course not!" he said, indignantly. "I'm over a year sober. You know that."

"And you haven't taken anything?" she said, peering into his eyes. "Vicodin? Oxy?" His eyes were a bit wild looking, but not particularly red or cloudy.

"I'm clean. I'm just. . .I'm going crazy Cuddy. Why haven't you called?"

"Keep your voice down," she said, ushering him in. "Rachel's asleep."

"Why haven't you called?" he repeated, more quietly this time.

Cuddy closed her eyes.

"I'm trying to decide what to do," she said. "We've been approaching a point of no return."

"Our whole relationship has been a point of no return," he said, stubbornly.

"That's not true. No damage has been done yet. Rachel doesn't know. Ellen doesn't know. We're just two consenting—if reckless—adults having an affair."

"It's so much more than that and you know it," he said, taking a step toward her. He gazed into her eyes. When she gazed back, he lifted her chin, placed a lock of hair behind her ear. "You know it," he whispered, kissing her softly on the mouth.

Reflexively, she kissed back.

"You're all I want," he said, drawing her closer—she was now practically tucked inside his overcoat. "You're all I've ever wanted." He began to kiss her more ardently. For a moment, it seemed like she was going to get lost in him—yet again. But then she snapped out of it.

"Stop!" she said. She squirmed out of his coat, out of his arms, and backed away. "This is not helping! I need to think."

He was still smoldering, slightly out of breath. He glared at her.

"What do you need to think about?" he said. "It's simple: Do you love me or not?"

"What's love got to do with it?"

"Everything."

She stared him, her eyes flashing.

"Yes, I do love you, okay? And no, it's not simple."

"Why not?"

"You know why not."

"I'm clean. I'm contrite. I'm. . . willing to do anything to make this relationship work. _Anything_."

"House, I know. I want to believe. You have no idea how much. But I need to consider my child."

"I love Rachel. I couldn't love her more if she were my own daughter."

"I need to consider how much you hurt me."

"Let me make it up to you. Or at least spend a lifetime trying."

"I need to consider your addiction. Your behavior. How reckless you can be."

"That was then. I'm sober now. I'll keep going to NA meetings here in Scarsdale. I'll go twice a week if you want! I swear, I'm never going to take another pill again."

"You say that now."

"Let me prove it to you."

Cuddy's mind suddenly flashed to Ella, advocating on Ellen's behalf: _Put yourself in her shoes_, she had said.

"And what about Ellen?" she said.

He looked stunned.

"She's completely irrelevant to this discussion and you know it!"

"She's another human being House."

He looked down at his feet.

"And one that I care about a lot," he said evenly. "I don't want to hurt her. But I don't love her either. There's one woman I love. _One._"

Cuddy sighed.

"Go home, House," she said. "Let me think. I'll call you in a few days. I promise."

"You sure?" Puppy dog eyes.

"Yes."

"If that's what you really need," he said dejectedly, his shoulders slumped.

For a second, he looked so sad, she almost lost her will.

"It is," she said, firmly.

Reluctantly, he backed out the door. She watched him limp down her path, hop onto his motorcycle, and peel off. It was an over 90 minute drive back to Princeton.

#####

Her lunches with Ella were a regular thing now, assumed on unless stated otherwise.

"What's the latest?" Ellen said, getting right down to business.

"A disaster," Cuddy said.

"Oh no," Ellen said with feigned sympathy.

"I'd been taking some time away from House to think. I can't think when I'm around him. I needed to…unclutter my mind. And of course, he showed up at my house on Sunday, banging on my door at midnight."

("High risk patient," he had told Ellen. "I'll probably just spend the night at the hospital.")

"Midnight?" Ellen said.

"Yeah, at first I actually thought he was high."

Ellen's eyes widened.

"But he wasn't," Cuddy said. "Just. . .desperate. He said I was making him crazy. I know how he feels. I'm making myself crazy too."

Ellen had been formulating a bullet-proof argument over the past few days and now seemed a perfect time to brandish it.

"You know a what a _folie __à__ deux_ is?" she said, tentatively.

"Yes, of course. A shared psychosis." Cuddy laughed grimly. "And you think that's what House and I have."

"Kind of. . ." Ellen said, biting on a coffee stirrer.

"You're not totally wrong."

"It's like, I look at you and I see this strong woman. This self-actualized, powerful, confident woman. But when it comes to him, you're a mess. You're like an. . .abused spouse."

"He's not violent, Ella. I've known him for 25 years. The car thing was an aberration."

"That's one hell of an aberration," Ellen said.

Cuddy shrugged, conceding.

"He has this power over you. It seems. . . unhealthy."

"It's love, Ella."

"There's all different kinds of love. Yours seems particularly . . .combustible."

"True."

"Okay. . ." Ellen straightened a bit, about to make her big point. "And then look at him. I know he claims he's miserable with this Ellen woman. But is he really? He's sober. He's functional. He's . . . even-keeled. Banging on the door of a woman who lives 90 minutes away from him in the middle of the night is not even-keeled, Lisa. It's madness."

"Yes . .I suppose it is," Cuddy stammered.

"Don't you see? He's losing it. . . again. Going off the rails. He's bad for you. And just as importantly, you're bad for him."

Cuddy stared at her, hurt and a little bit shocked.

"What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying that you and House love each other. I don't doubt that. But sometimes, the best thing to do when you really love someone is let them go."

######

Three weeks later, Ellen approached House in the apartment. He was leaning against the window sill, smoking.

"Hey," she said, rubbing his arm a bit.

He didn't answer. Took a long drag of the cigarette and looked out the window mournfully.

"You can smoke inside the apartment if you want," she said, coaxingly. "We can just spray air freshener. Besides, it's _your _apartment!"

"I'm fine here," he said—more words than he had spoken to her in over a week.

She smiled, shook her head grimly.

"We can't get our timing together, can we?" she said, gently. "Last month, you were in a good mood and I wasn't. Now it seems that you're the gloomy one."

House took another drag, said nothing.

Of course, Ellen knew why he was in a bad mood. Shortly after their conversation in the coffee shop, Cuddy had called House and ended things for good.

"It was horrible," Cuddy had told her the following Tuesday, shuddering at the thought. "I think he was crying."

"And what makes you think he's really going to stay away this time?" Ellen had said. "Not come banging on your door in the middle of the night?"

"I told him if he really loved me and Rachel he'd stay away. Forever. And I know he will." Then Cuddy had blinked back her own tears. "I'm miserable, Ella. Totally gutted. But I know I did the right thing. Thank you for helping me see that."

In that exact moment, Ellen actually felt horrible for her new "friend." But then she reminded herself that she, Ellen Chalmers, was the aggrieved party. Not the two people sneaking around and having the affair.

The next step, for Ellen, was easing out of her friendship with Cuddy. Not that she didn't want to stay friends with her. In some alternate universe—where she wasn't a spy, a secret agent, a saboteur—she actually could see them becoming best friends. At least, she would want them to. She adored Cuddy, idolized her even a little. But it was just too much of a risk. Real friends got together outside of coffee shops. Real friends shared photos, personal details. Real friends met each other's boyfriends. So she had lied, said she broke her ankle—"I'm such a klutz," she had laughed. "I literally tripped over my own two feet"—and was out of yoga commission for the foreseeable future. And she knew that, since their whole relationship had been based on two things: Yoga class and Cuddy regaling "Ella" with the latest juicy details of the soap opera that was House and Cuddy, their friendship would eventually peter out.

Since then, House had been a nightmare to live with. He always had a darkness about him that lurked around the edges. But now he was all darkness, no light.

So she decided it was time for him to snap out of it.

"You want to go grab a burger at Clyde's?"

"Not hungry."

She held out two fingers for him to hand her his cigarette. She didn't really like to smoke, but it was the closest thing to intimacy she'd shared with him in months. He obliged. She took a puff, sharing his saliva, handed it back to him.

"I don't know what's going on with you, but we can't go on like this. I feel like I'm living with a zombie," she said.

"I know," he said.

"You don't talk. You don't smile. You barely eat. You're moping around the house like the living dead."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be sorry," she said. "Just snap out of it!"

He looked at her, as if really seeing her for the first time in weeks.

"I guess there's something I need to tell you," he said, blinking at her.

Once again, her heart began doing somersaults in her chest.

"No," she said firmly. "You don't."

"I _don't_?"

"No. Whatever it is, whatever it _was_, whatever you're mourning, I don't want to know about it. It's your business and it's behind us. I just have one question: Do you want to stay in this relationship or not?"

House leaned his head against the window. He seemed utterly lost. He hesitated for what seemed like an eternity.

"Yes," he said finally. "I do."

She put her arms around him, so relieved to hear him say it out loud, to be able to touch him in a possessive way again.

"Me too," she said, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Then let's put whatever this is behind us, okay?"

"Okay," he said.

And he hugged her back. Not because he loved her but because she was all he had. Because she had apparently absolved him of his sins. Because he was grateful for small favors.

#####

The next week, she finally did manage to get him out of the house, to Clyde's.

They were sitting in a corner booth—both had ordered burgers and fries, although House's appetite wasn't quite back yet. He was still picking at his food.

Then he got a page.

He looked down at his phone.

"Apparently my idiotic team is incapable of reading a simple scan," he said, annoyed. "Let me deal with this." Then, teasingly, he said: "Don't eat my fries. I counted them. I'll know."

He took his phone and wandered outside.

Ellen smiled to herself. Things were finally beginning to get back to normal.

"Ella!" she heard a woman say.

She didn't look up, grabbed a fry off House's plate, just to start trouble.

"Ella!" Louder this time.

There was something strangely familiar about that voice. She took a sip of her Diet Coke, ignored it.

"_Ella!"_

Finally, she looked up.

Lisa Cuddy was standing at the end of her table, laughing at her.

"Girl, are you deaf? I shouted your name three times!"

Ellen was caught completely off guard. What the hell was Cuddy doing in Princeton? Then she remembered: She's from Princeton. She has family here.

"Just day dreaming, I guess," she said.

"How's your ankle? I don't see a cast."

"It's, uh, much better. I never had a cast, just a walking boot. I left it home. It itched." She had become unnervingly skilled at lying.

Then Cuddy glanced at the half eaten burger on the plate across from her.

"Ohmygod, are you here with the famous _George_?" she said, her eyes dancing mischievously.

"Yeah, but he. . .uh. . . he just got a page from the hospital. I'm not sure he's coming back." She glanced nervously at the door.

"But he left his coat!" Cuddy said.

"Sometimes, he, uh, leaves his coat by accident. Or to make the emergency seem more legit when he runs out on his half of the bill," she tried to laugh. Her head was spinning. "Who are you here with?"

"My sister," Cuddy said, jerking her head toward a pretty brunette—not as pretty as Cuddy, though—sitting alone at a table checking her email. "Mom's got Rachel, so we're having a sister's night out."

"That's nice. . ." Ellen said, in a distracted way. "Actually, I'm pretty sure George isn't coming back." She began to put on her own coat. "I think I'll just get the check and go." She frantically began scanning the room for a waitress.

Cuddy frowned.

"Are you alright? Why are you acting so strangely?"

"No, I'm just….you should probably get back to your sister. And I should probably. . ."

"_Cuddy?_"

They both looked up.

Oh shit. _Shit, shit, shit. . ._

House was standing there, looking completely stunned. Cuddy stared back at him, equally stunned.

In unison they said, to Ellen: "You know each other?" 


	4. Chapter 4

House was completely in the dark but Cuddy was armed with at least some of the facts, so she was the first to piece it all together.

"You're Ellen," she said, gaping at her. Then, with a slow and scornful shake of her head: "You fucking bitch."

House looked at Cuddy, utterly baffled.

"Hey now," he said, gently, touching the sleeve of her coat.

"Let me explain. . ." Ellen stammered, feeling her face get hot.

"Actually, it's pretty fucking self-explanatory," Cuddy said.

"I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to hurt anyone. It was never supposed to go this far. . ." Ellen said.

"Will someone explain to _me _what the fuck is going on here?" House barked.

"Tell him, _Ellen_," Cuddy said, putting her hands on her hips.

Ellen looked to Cuddy, then back to House. She was having a hard time formulating the right words.

Disgusted, Cuddy stepped in: "If you won't tell him, I will. Your girlfriend here is a regular Mata Hari. She joined my yoga class and pretended to be my friend. She called herself Ella. You were George, by the way."

"_What_?" House said, his eyes widening.

"Oh yeah," Cuddy said, all worked up now. "And it gets better. We talked about you. She gave me advice. I thought she cared about me."

"I do care about you!" Ellen said.

Cuddy laughed derisively.

"Oh save it, honey."

"What kind of advice?" House said, setting his jaw.

"Naturally, she told me to end things with you. Surprise, surprise."

"I'm sorry. Truly I am," Ellen said, her voice shaking. "But you're not the only one who was hurt here! My boyfriend was cheating on me! With you!"

"I would never, ever deceive a friend," Cuddy said. "But then again, we were never really friends, were we?"

Ellen looked down at the table.

"No, I suppose not," she said.

House, who now fully comprehended the story, looked like he was about to explode.

"How could you do this?" he yelled at Ellen. "What kind of monster does something like this?"

She cowered a bit in the face of his anger.

"I was jealous! I just wanted to meet my rival, see what I was up against. I never meant to hurt anyone. It all just . . . spiraled out of control."

"I thanked you," Cuddy said, tears stinging her eyes. Her rage had somewhat subsided, now replaced by something more akin to hurt feelings. "I thanked you for being such a good friend."

"I'm sorry. I'm ashamed of myself. But that doesn't change the fact that you were having an affair with _my_ boyfriend!"

"_Ex _boyfriend," House hissed.

Ellen looked up him pleadingly.

"But things were getting better between us! We were moving on!"

"You're truly delusional, you know that?" he sneered. "I'm serious, Ellen. Exactly how deep does your denial run?"

"I know you love her more!" Ellen said, pathetically. "But there's all different kinds of love!"

"Don't make me say something cruel," House spat, his eyes flashing dangerously.

At that moment, Julia, who had been watching the whole tableaux from her table, marched over.

"My sister makes a scene in the middle of a restaurant, and—what a shock!—Greg House is involved," she said.

"Lovely to see you, too, Julia," House said, through gritted teeth.

"C'mon Lisa, I paid the bill. We're going." Julia grabbed her sister by the arm.

Cuddy looked at Ellen, then looked at House—then allowed herself to be led to the exit.

Immediately, House began to limp after them.

"Greg! Don't!" Ellen cried. "Talk to me!"

But he was halfway out the door.

"Cuddy!" he shouted, limping quickly toward them in the parking lot.

"Lisa, get in the car," Julia instructed. She had already gotten in herself, and was sitting in the driver's seat, her seatbelt on, impatiently idling the engine.

"Just give me five minutes," House begged, slightly out of breath. "Five minutes."

Cuddy closed her eyes tightly, as though trying to shut out the world so she could be alone with her thoughts.

"I'll be right back," she said finally to Julia—and pulled House away from the car, to the curb, out of Julia's earshot.

"This doesn't change anything," she said to him.

"It changes everything! You broke up with me under false pretenses. You were. . .brainwashed."

"First of all, I didn't 'break up' with you because we were never officially together. Second of all, I wasn't brainwashed. Nobody makes me do anything I don't want to do, House. Not even an alleged good friend."

"I'm sorry. I had no idea she was capable of something like this," House said.

"I've got to hand it to her," Cuddy said, with a somewhat contemptuous smile. "She's tougher than she looks, I'll give her that. She fights for her man."

"I'm not her man," House said. "I've never been her man. I'm _your_ man."

"No," Cuddy said, beginning to tear up again. "You're not."

"I feel like we can start all over again," he said, eagerly. "Try again. I'm breaking up with Ellen. We're through."

"Don't do that," Cuddy warned.

"It's already done."

"You'll be alone then. Because I'm not coming back, House. Don't you see? This is just more insanity. It's always like this between us—crazy, out of control, unsustainable. And I'm putting an end to it, once and for all. For both our sakes. I know this was my fault. I take total blame. I invited you into my therapy sessions. I invited you into my bed. And now I'm uninviting you, House. We're through."

"We'll never be through!" he said, defiantly.

"House, go back to Ellen. She keeps you sane."

"What's so fucking great about being sane?" House said.

She bit her lip, looked at him mournfully.

"I'm going now," she said. "Don't try to contact me. No calls. No emails. No more midnight visits. It's over, House. For real this time."

She walked away, briskly, and got into the car. Julia peeled away before House could say anything else.

"Fuck!" he screamed loudly, into the parking lot.

A family of three, holding doggy bags, were on their way to their Minivan. The mother covered her young daughter's ears; the father gave House a death stare.

"Sorry," House said, under his breath. He crumpled to the curb, sat there, staring at the spot where Julia's car had just been idling.

A few minutes later, Ellen emerged from the bar.

"You forgot your coat," she said, putting his coat around his shoulders, shawl style, like he was some sort of disaster victim, being tended to by the Red Cross.

She sat down next to him.

"You okay?" she said.

He turned to her. And in that moment, she knew it was really over. There was nothing but contempt in his eyes.

"Here," he said, handing her his car keys. "Take the car. Go home. Pack up your shit and get out of my life."

"But I. . . I have no place to go!" she said.

He roughly grabbed her phone out of her hand, hit a speed dial number.

"Carla?" he said— Ellen's best friend. "It's Greg. I just kicked Ellen out. Can she stay at your place for a while? Yes, I know I'm an asshole. Good. She'll be over soon."

He tossed the phone back to her.

"Carla is expecting you," he said.

"What about you? Where are you going to go?"

"I'll get a cab to the hospital. You have 3 hours to clear out."

"Let's just talk about this," she said. She went to take his hand, but he violently yanked it away. "You're being hasty. You're angry. I understand that."

"It's one thing to hurt me," House said. "But you hurt her and that's it. You're out of my life. You're dead to me."

"That's a good one," Ellen said, bitterly.

"Meaning?"

"Like I could hurt you. You have to care about someone for them to hurt you."

"Finally, we see eye to eye," he said, coldly.

"Carla's right. You are a fucking asshole, you know that?" she shouted.

"And you're a pathetic, manipulative cunt."

For a moment, they were both shocked. They had never spoken to each other that way.

Finally House got up from the curb.

"Three hours," he said, pointing at her.

He began to limp toward the bar.

"Wait! Where do you think you're going?" she called after him.

"Where does it look like I'm going?" he said. "Inside the bar to wait for my cab."

"No!"

"_No?_"

"I don't think you should be alone in a bar right now. I'm afraid you'll have a drink. I'm 12 years sober and _I_ want a drink."

"No one's having a drink," House said. "Not me. Not you. Now leave."

"I never wanted things to end like this," she said.

He sighed.

"Well, life sucks like that," he said.

He went inside.

The bar was incongruously busy, with happy, oblivious people going about their lives, playing pool and throwing back drinks. House couldn't get out of there fast enough. But before he called the cab, he called back Carla:

"Do me a favor," he said to her. "Lock up all your liquor before she arrives."

######

Three weeks later, there was a loud banging on Cuddy's door.

She had been bracing herself for this moment. Frankly, she was surprised it had taken him so long. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand: 9:30. Well, at least he was making a scene at more reasonable hours these days, she thought, ironically.

But when she got to the front door, she was surprised not to see her grizzled, frazzled, ardent suitor, but one Ellen Chalmers.

"I'm sorry to just barge in on you like this," Ellen said haltingly. "But you wouldn't take my calls."

"That's because we have nothing to talk about," Cuddy said, coldly.

"Just give me five minutes. Please. I drove all the way from Princeton."

Cuddy peered at her. There was something about Ellen's face—open and uncomplicated, with that Midwestern guilelessness—that made her hard to resist. That was why she'd become such fast friends with her to begin with.

"Five minutes," she said, leading Ellen to the couch. "That's it."

"Thank you."

"I'm drinking wine," Cuddy said, gesturing toward her glass of pinot grigio. "Want some?"

"No. . . I don't drink," Ellen said.

"Oh shit," Cuddy said, genuinely abashed. "I forgot. Sorry. I have apple juice?"

"Do you have any sparkling water? Maybe with some lime."

"Coming right up."

She hurried into the kitchen, fixed the drink, then sat across from her.

"Okay, I'm listening. What do you have to say?"

"I want to say I'm sorry, again," Ellen said, taking a sip of her water.

"Fine," Cuddy said. "You're sorry."

"I really do like and admire you so much."

"You have a funny way of showing it."

"But that's not why I'm here."

"No?"

"No, I'm here because. . .I think you should take House back."

Cuddy almost spit out her wine.

"_What?_"

"He hates me now. Whatever it was we had, it's long over."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"No you're not."

"I am," Cuddy protested. "Back when I thought you were Ella, you actually made a lot of sense: Ellen kept him on track. So I guess, _you_ keep him on track."

"They don't write sonnets about keeping someone on track."

"They also don't write sonnets about driving your car through someone's house."

"They probably do, actually," Ellen said, with a half shrug. "The point is this: Do you know what I'd give to have House love me the way he loves you? Hell, to love me _half _as much as the way loves you?"

"Oh, he loves me alright," Cuddy said, sadly.

"And you love him. The kind of love everyone dreams of having—big, passionate . . . operatic."

"Most operas are tragedies."

"Yours doesn't have to be! Look, you know what House told me my biggest sin was? Not lying to him. Not betraying him. But hurting you. He'll protect you to the end of time. No man is ever going to love you the way he does."

"Sometimes love isn't enough. We're bad for each other. You said so yourself."

"Stop quoting the woman who was _actively_ _trying to break you up_!" Ellen said, exasperated.

And for a second, they both couldn't help but to laugh.

"Look, all I'm saying is this," she continued. "House is sober. For real this time. If the past few weeks haven't driven him back to drugs, nothing will."

"How can you be sure he's sober?"

"Because he's still going to NA. On different nights from me, of course. But he's going. . ."

Cuddy thought about that for a second.

"That's good," she said quietly. "That's really good."

"He's sober and he adores you. And your kid, by the way. He has, like, 100 pictures of her on his cellphone."

Talk of Rachel was too much for her. A fat tear dripped slowly down Cuddy's cheek.

"A hundred?" she said.

"At least," Ellen said, handing her tissue. "Look, there's all different kinds of romantic love out there. There's young love. There's love that stems from familiarity and comfort, like what my parents have. There's unrequited love—I'm intimately familiar with that," she added with a self-deprecating chuckle. "And then there's what you guys have. The kind of all-consuming, red hot, passionate love that can never be extinguished. And that's what everyone in this life shoots for! Are you really going to throw that away?"

Cuddy wiped her eyes and stared at her, incredulously.

"Why are you saying all this?"

"Because, believe it or not, I still believe in love. I believe in happy endings. And I want you guys to get yours. "

######

The worst part about House's foul mood was that there was no end in sight. No Cuddy to lift him from his darkness. Not even Ellen, who at least had the capacity to keep him from turning into a total jerk.

His team, as a result, were completely miserable. How many times could your boss suggest that you bought your medical degree on eBay or call you a "shit for brains," or insist that you spend the night at the hospital because you were "obviously incapable of rational thought during waking hours," before it became unbearable?

That's what House's team was thinking as he went on one of his rants—"a telephone psychic would have more insight into our patient's condition than you do!"—and Foreman came in, looking official.

"You're needed in HR," he said to House.

House waved his hand at him, in a dismissive way.

"Later," he said. "I'm tossing my ideas into a dark abyss, also known as a DDX with my team."

"Not later. Now," Foreman said, sternly.

House rolled his eyes in a "why me?" sort of way. "Doesn't that little weasel in HR have anyone else to badger?"

"He does. You're just his favorite," Foreman said.

"Fine. And maybe while I'm gone one of you can call an actual telephone psychic. I'm sure she'll at least pretend to have a diagnosis."

He limped out into the hallway.

After he was gone, a sneaky grin crossed Foreman's face.

"What are you smirking about?" Taub said.

"Nothing." Then he turned to Chase: "How do you feel about running this department?"

######

"What did I do this time?" House said petulantly, folding himself into a chair in HR. "Call a fat person fat? Call a bitchy person a bitch? Tell a dying person they were toast? Who do I have to apologize to? Where do I have to sign?"

"Why didn't you tell the hospital you had applied for a fellowship at Scarsdale General?" the HR guy, whose name was Bob Pratt, said.

House squinted at him.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he said. "I didn't apply for any fellowship."

"Well someone applied on your behalf. And you got the job. It's a year long fellowship to assess the hospital's need for a department of diagnostics, with the option of hiring you at the end if all parties agree to move forward."

House's mouth dropped open. He didn't know what to say.

Pratt chuckled.

"In the 14 years I've worked with you, House, I can honestly say this is the first time I've ever seen you speechless."

"If I didn't apply for the fellowship, who did?" House said.

"Do you know anyone at Scarsdale General?" Then Pratt furrowed his brow. "Wait…isn't that where Dr. Cuddy landed? You don't think. . ."

"I honestly have no idea," House said. "It could be her. Or maybe. . .someone is fucking with us."

Pratt shook his head.

"You didn't actually just use the word 'fucking' in front of the HR director, did you?" he said, seriously. (Being serious about such matters sort of came with the job description.)

"Sorry," House said. "It just seems like the world has been _screwing_ with me lately."

"Better," Pratt said, frowning. "Slightly. . . So do you want the job or not, House? Because if you do, there's a lot of paperwork that needs to be filled out."

"I do," House said. "But I need to talk to someone first. To make sure there's no mix-up."

"Okay, House. The sooner the better. The fellowship starts in two weeks. " Then he gave a tiny smile. "I will say this: If you do take the job, I don't envy the HR director at Scarsdale General."

"I love you, too, Bob," House said, popping up.

As he headed back to his office, House's head was spinning. It had to be Cuddy, right? Who else? But if it was her, why all the secrecy? What's more, she had made it perfectly clear she never wanted to see him again. Then could it be Ellen? She had proven to be more Machiavellian—more capable of deceit and long-term trickery—than he had ever suspected. But, if so, what could her end game possibly be?

He was lost in thought as he opened the door to his office. It was unusually quiet. He jerked his head toward the DDx room, prepared to chew out his team for their lack of brainstorming, when he did a double take. There, lying on top of the conference table, in a red pencil skirt and sleeveless black blouse—her legs crossed at the ankle, her head propped up on her elbow—was Lisa Cuddy.

He actually shook his head like a dog to make sure he wasn't dreaming. (He had literally had a dream like this once—right down to the red skirt.)

"That was probably the first time you were ever called into HR for _good_ news, huh?" she said, with a tiny smile.

He stepped into the DDx room, still in a daze.

"So it was you?" he said.

"Who else?" she said, teasingly.

"I don't know. Ellen maybe? I was confused. I _am _confused."

"A few months ago, you talked about taking that fellowship and moving in with me and Rachel. I'm here to say that offer is still on the table." Then she laughed. "Quite literally, I guess."

He gaped at her. The sexiness of her lying on that table, combined with the eeriness of the DDx room being cleared out, and the impossibility of getting everything he had hoped for gave him a strong sense of unreality. But he wasn't on drugs. And this wasn't a hallucination.

"What changed?" he sputtered. "Four weeks ago, you banished me from your life—permanently."

"I had a visit from Ellen, believe it or not," Cuddy said. "And she talked some sense into me."

"_Ellen_?"

"Yeah. She's very persuasive, apparently. She pointed out that love like ours is pretty rare. That it should be treasured, preserved. That it shouldn't be taken for granted."

"I . . . agree."

"So I'm willing to try this, again, House. And for real this time. Trusting you, believing in you, believing in us. The whole bit."

"I've always believed in us," he said.

"I know, House," she said. "But if I'm going to let you back in to my life, I do have a few stipulations."

"Of course. . .anything."

"Weekly NA meetings for you. Al Anon for me. And you'll start seeing that therapist Anita recommended."

"Done," House said.

"And you'll start coming to yoga with me."

"Absolutely," he said, already trying to figure out the logistics, with his cane.

She laughed.

"Just kidding on that last one," she said, mischievously. Then she sat up. "Come here, handsome."

He stepped over to her. She scooted to the edge of the table, wrapped her legs around him.

"I love you," she said, kissing him.

"I love you, too," he said, kissing her back.

"I'm sorry I put you through this."

"I'm sorry, too. For everything."

He continued to kiss her, getting turned on beyond all measure.

"You're so fucking beautiful, you know that?" he said.

"So are you." she said, biting his bottom lip sexily.

"I want to fuck you so badly right now—you have no idea," he whispered, kissing her throat and beginning to dig into her skirt. "Who cares if we get caught? Neither of us work here anymore."

"Easy there, tiger," she said, giggling, and straightening up before things got too out of control. "I promise we can recreate this little scene back at my house. I have a very ample dining room table."

She hopped off the table.

Slightly chastened, he stepped away.

"Cuddy, can I ask you something?" he said. "Why all the cloak and dagger stuff? Why all the secrecy? Why all the drama?"

"Because it's us," she laughed. "Would you have it any other way?"

EPILOGUE

On a Tuesday afternoon, at the Crimson and Clover flower shop—a charming, bohemian space, teaming with wild and domestic flowers and ceramic pots and assorted bric a brac—the door chime sounded, indicating there was a new customer.

Ellen looked up—and couldn't believe her eyes.

There was House—looking fit and happy and healthy, in a snug black tee-shirt and faded jeans, his a hair a bit longer than she'd last seen it, a tiny, uncertain grin on his face.

"Hey you," he said.

"Hey yourself," she said, stunned.

He shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I was, uh, in the neighborhood so I thought I'd pick up some flowers."

"You've come to the right place," she said, with false cheer. Happy as she was to see him, she couldn't deny that it was going to hurt a little to watch him pick out flowers for Lisa Cuddy.

"What kind of flowers does she like?" Ellen said, all business.

"I don't know?" House said, eyeing her. "What kind do _you _like?"

"Me? Well, I like to keep it simple."

"Sounds good"

"Lilies."

"Okay," he nodded, as she began to assemble the bouquet.

"And daisies."

"Sure, those too."

"And delphinium, of course."

"Of course," he said, mirthfully.

"And then you can finish with some ferns and vines, for a little bit of green."

She clipped the greens and added them to the bouquet, then expertly sealed the flowers with twine and wrapped them in tissue paper.

"She'll want to put those in water, right away," she said, handing them to him. "And she should add these tablets to preserve freshness."

"Got it," he said. Then his voice softened a bit: "You look good, Ellen."

"So do you."

"I am good. I'm excellent in fact."

"I'm happy to hear that, Greg. Really."

"I know you are," he said. "And you? You're doing okay?"

"I am doing well. I got an apartment a few blocks from the store. I can bike to work! It makes my life a lot easier. And I got a little puppy from the pound. He's a Golden Retriever. His name is Rufus."

"Rufus the Golden Retriever," House said approvingly. "Excellent." Then he reached for his wallet. "How much do I owe you?".

"Don't be silly," she said. "It's on the house, no pun intended."

"Never heard that one before," he cracked. "But seriously. We both know I'm paying. So how much?"

"65 dollars," she said.

"_Really_? Remind me again why I was the one who always bought dinner?"

She laughed.

"It's a living," she said.

He paid for the flowers, then—much to her surprise— handed them right back to her.

"For you," he said, with a little bow. "My highly inadequate way of saying I'm sorry. And thank you."

She felt abashed, and girlishly shocked. She was quite sure she was blushing.

"You don't need to apologize to me," she said.

"Of course I do. You were nothing but good to me. And I was nothing but a dick to you."

"Well, apology unnecessary but accepted. We both made mistakes. Lots of then. And besides, I thought you once said you couldn't buy flowers for a woman who owned a flower shop," she teased.

"That was dumb. I mean, who better to buy flowers for? You obviously love them."

And he grinned.

Then he said, "Look, I know that you talked to Cuddy and helped her change her mind."

"I just gave her a nudge to do what was already in her heart. That's all she needed, just a tiny nudge."

"Well, thanks."

"You're welcome."

He blinked at her.

"I miss you," he said sincerely. "And as insane as this might sound, Cuddy misses you, too. We were wondering if maybe you might like to come over for dinner next week?"

"Oh God, Greg. That would be weird, right? I mean, I'd feel like such a third wheel."

"Actually, Cuddy has a friend she wants you to meet," he said, shuffling his feet. "His name's Alan. He's a pediatric oncologist at the hospital. Horrible dresser. Can't play chess worth a damn. Makes these cringingly corny jokes, but he's…okay company, I guess. He insists on having lunch with me every day at the hospital. Anyway, he's recently divorced—his third marriage, by the way. So he's kind of like you—an eternal optimist. We thought you guys might get along. What do you say? Next Thursday. I promise Cuddy won't cook."

Ellen took a big whiff of her bouquet and smiled. She hadn't felt this carefree in months.

"I'd love to," she said.

THE END


End file.
